FascinatingRhythm

by Lynne Connolly

  He took her hand and lifted it to his lips, kissing her knuckles in an old-fashioned, respectful gesture. “That’s why you’re so much better than me. It took me a year to face the real reason. And I didn’t want to fall in love. Not at that time in my life. I couldn’t have cared for you the way you deserved.”

  She choked out a laugh, but really she felt relieved. He’d been twenty-two when he left home, barely out of university, sheltered and privileged. Those years in London and then America had changed him. For the better, she believed, despite his behavior yesterday, which was as much her fault as his. She should have listened to him and discussed the situation, not driven him away out of hand. “You found the band. I bet you didn’t always eat either.”

  He shrugged. “Musicians don’t always eat regular meals. But yes, you’re right. And I found that some drugs and drink, which people used to send us while we were performing, filled the gap. I didn’t have it as bad as some members, but we all survived so we’re a lot luckier than some.” He gave a wry grin. “I didn’t really indulge badly. I dabbled, then I gave it up when my drumming started to go off. In the end, my work meant more to me than the drugs.”

  In other words, what he did was complex and highly skillful. He couldn’t do what he wanted high.

  “I have another plan for you to consider. I can finish the European leg of the tour and visit you between the gigs. After that, I’ll come home with you. You can say no, you don’t love me, and send me away. I’ll go if that’s what you want.”

  She didn’t want any more soul-baring, not on this train. Anyone could be listening. So she changed the subject and asked something she needed the answer to. “When do you write the songs?”

  He sighed. “In the downtime between concerts. But they don’t need me for that. I just play the drums.”

  “You’re lying. You do a lot more than that.”

  He didn’t deny it. He couldn’t. “You’re more important. I love you, Sabina.”

  She touched his lips to try to stop him, an instinctive gesture. He kissed her fingers. She took them away hastily and decided to ask him the question that had bugged her ever since he’d reappeared in her life.

  And she realized something else. Berlin was three, four hours away at the most by train. She could manage that. “I want to hear the band,” she said.

  “Then come with me.”

  Excitement rose within her. “That doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you.”

  “I know.” He stroked her palm with his thumb, softly seductive. “I have a long way to go before you’ll do that.”

  “But I want to come.” She really did.

  As if driven by something out of his control, Hunter leaned forward, kissed her, but kept the kiss sweetly loving, not passionately rough. She wanted both, but that wasn’t the problem, she reminded herself. She’d always wanted him, even in the years when she’d hated him. Now she knew exactly what he was like in bed, it made the longing worse. She wouldn’t deny it. She wouldn’t even fight it.

  “I’ll make you come,” he growled. “Any way you want.” He caught his breath and leaned back, obviously as turned-on as she was. She didn’t have to look down at his crotch to see that. “Sorry. I’ll ask Beverley to book you a separate room.”

  “No.” She took all her courage in both hands. “With both of us feeling this way, that would be counterproductive.”

  “One way of putting it.” He touched her chin, urged her to move closer and then kissed her again, but longer this time, letting his desire show even if he didn’t unleash it completely. If he had, she’d be lying across the seats by now. As it was, he’d pushed up the seat arm between them without her noticing. When he pressed his body against hers, she responded, unable to resist his potent allure.

  They didn’t stop kissing until they reached Stockholm.

  *

  He hadn’t told her that he’d dropped everything to seek her out until he received a call from his manager, desperate to get him to Berlin in time for the sound check the following evening. Hearing some of Chick’s threats and remembering the sheer size of the man, Sabina made him fly out that night, promising him she’d follow by train. He didn’t go until he’d bought the ticket for Berlin and seen her into a taxi for Emmelie’s house, where she could collect more clothes.

  So in the end she traveled alone to Berlin, and Beverley met her to take her to the hotel. She liked Beverley but she didn’t want to confide in anyone else the momentous decisions she and Hunter had to make, so she kept mainly silent. “Do you want to see the concert or go and rest?” Beverley asked her.

  “The concert,” Sabina said.

  “Okay, we’ll drop your luggage at the hotel and head out there. It’s a great venue.”

  “Is it better than the others on the tour?”

  Simple questions to keep Beverley talking. Sabina learned a lot about the band and the way the members worked together as a near-seamless unit.

  Other bands might have sent substitutes to a mere sound check, but not Murder City Ravens. Proudly Beverley outlined what her lover, Jace, the guitarist, did. Or rather, one of the guitarists, because Riku also played guitar, and Zazz played too, for certain songs. They were all competent or better at more than one instrument, all dedicated to their craft.

  The venue was another big sports stadium but Sabina, lost in her thoughts, didn’t register it until she was sitting next to a huge but friendly security guy, an umbrella resting by his side because this was an outdoor stadium. They sat close to the stage so she got out her headphones and adjusted the level. She’d still hear them but muted. The man, Franz, raised his brows, but she explained and he nodded, asked about her operation.

  He was as good at putting her at her ease as Sabina had been at distracting Beverley from too much speculation earlier. She chatted, and only just before the band came out did she realize she’d been automatically blocking out the extraneous noise. Shit, she was doing better than she’d thought.

  If she’d imagined watching two concerts on the same tour would be the same, she’d have been deeply mistaken. Hunter had told her the band had some parts of the set list where they might deviate into something else. These days, big concerts like this were high-tech affairs, carefully orchestrated, but the band wouldn’t let anyone dictate what they did, to the point of obstinacy.

  Someone must have told Hunter where she was sitting because when he walked on, his gaze went immediately to her and he smiled, touched his forehead and signed to her, “I love you.”

  Her heart stopped then started again with a mighty thump that made her catch her breath. So much so that Franz asked her if she felt okay. Nodding, she concentrated on breathing deeply. He wouldn’t see her if she signed back. Would he?

  But she couldn’t risk it, couldn’t deny it either. That wasn’t where their problems lay. “I love you,” she signed back, swiftly and almost furtively. She did, she really did.

  Hunter rapped three sharp beats on the side of his snare drum and the band swung into the first song, the same as the one she’d seen in Malmö.

  But now she heard it. Now she could have the whole experience, and know for sure what the rest of the world was getting so excited about.

  And fuck, over the course of the next two hours did she realize.

  The music was complex but not difficult to understand. It had a central theme, mostly doom-laden but with the leavening of intelligence. That gave the listener inner delight, a sense of sharing and being part of something.

  And that was only the first song.

  She tried not to look at Hunter, overawed by the fact that she knew him so well, that she’d known him before—before he’d got so good. How the fuck had he done that? In a house where he couldn’t play, couldn’t practice because he’d disturb someone living there. He’d had to live in that house, when all the time he could do—this!

  He played with passion, precision and complete concentration. After a couple of numbers he didn’t look at her, well, not much.<
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  Sabina lost all sense of time. For all she knew the world outside this arena had ceased to exist. Only she and the people she felt so close to right now, the people sharing this experience, mattered. Even turning down the sound on her own headphones left her with a fuller sense of richness and depth.

  She’d made the right choice. She’d decided to have the operation so she could listen to this and if she lost it tomorrow, she’d still have been right. Hearing this made up for everything, all the silent years.

  It helped that she knew what the songs were about, having lip-read most of them before, from all three concerts she’d seen. Subtle and beautiful, chords and melodies and strange rhythms wound around her, into her, until she heard a familiar throb, a beat. Somewhere inside her, that throb echoed. Almost a heartbeat but with a faster double-beat at the end. She couldn’t work out what or why it sank right into her, belonged to her, but put it down to the sheer genius she was listening to. Apart, they were brilliant musicians, but the band as a whole was genius.

  V slid in so perfectly it was as if she’d been part of the band from the beginning, but she’d joined the band last. Now they made a fascinating whole, with V’s sax blending in and out. They must have a variety of sources. Sabina remembered music from before she’d lost her hearing, but she’d never heard anything like this. Ever. She doubted anything like this existed unless there were copycats. Murder City Ravens gave everything, and then some.

  They played songs about lost love, and love that survived disaster. They broke hearts, singing about corruption and miserable death, then came back with fury, all three front men playing electric guitars, shrieking and showing their agony.

  They finished that section with a song that spoke of walking out of a car crash, alive and guilty but glad to be alive. It ended with a noise from Riku’s electronic rig that sounded like birdsong. Then the lights went out, pitching them into darkness.

  Franz caught her arm, part of his job to ensure she was safe. Then the audience applauded and Sabina had to turn her headphones down to cope with the cacophony.

  The band came back, but this time everyone except V, Donovan and Riku were topless. The crowd went wild, and Sabina applauded along with everyone else. To her eyes, nobody could beat the sheer beauty and strength of Hunter, not even Jace with his amazing dragon tattoo that went all the way down his back to disappear under the belt of his low-slung jeans. Beverley got to see that gorgeousness every night. But she didn’t get Hunter. He belonged to Sabina.

  She caught herself up. Hers? She hadn’t even decided what to do yet.

  Yes she had. Who was she fucking kidding? Not herself, that was for sure.

  Chapter Seventeen

  He knew she was out there. For most of the performance Hunter couldn’t see Sabina but he felt her presence and her approval as if it were a living thing. Hope suffused him and he had to work hard to block that emotion out, to tap into the senses he needed to help convey what each song was about. That was what made them special.

  Onstage, they opened themselves to the audience, revealed their souls. It took a lot of bravery to do that and he’d had to force himself the first few times but both incarnations of Murder City Ravens required that. Sometimes, this new, revived band, with Zazz and Riku, went so close to the edge it could feel like an open wound.

  Tonight he was guardedly happy. Guardedly because they hadn’t decided anything yet. And he had the press conference to get through.

  After the show, wiped out and needing something, he looked for her. He’d never forgotten her, and the way she made him feel was like no other woman. He flew to her like a wounded bird, instinctively seeking out his home, his nest, where he felt safe and sheltered.

  The security guard assigned to take care of her had brought her to the side of the stage. Although he wanted to hold her, kiss her, his hair stuck to his neck in damp strands and his torso gleamed with sweat.

  He grabbed one of the towels held out to him by—someone—and scrubbed it roughly over his head and body. All the time she watched him, unsmiling, only acknowledging the greeting of the other members of the band with brief smiles and hellos. But she never took her attention from him and he felt it like a caress, sending his nerve endings rioting.

  He held out his hand to her. “Ready?”

  She nodded. Already she knew what he meant, without him having to explain it.

  Hunter decided to go through to the press conference topless, give them something to talk about other than Sabina. The others trailed in but Hunter sat at his accustomed place at one end of the row. Usually, partners and lovers kept away, but this time he found a chair for Sabina next to him because they knew she’d be part of the questions.

  Chick nodded at him in approval. “Keep her close,” he said. “They’re smelling blood.”

  “What?”

  Chick shrugged. “I don’t know the details, man. I can just smell it. It might not be you, but the way they perked up and started snapping when you came in tells me otherwise.” Instinct combined with acute observation and knowledge. The perfect combination, especially for a manager. Maybe the senses jungle animals needed most, but then this was a jungle. Looking at the press as a rabid pack of hyenas might be unfair but it worked for Hunter right now.

  Once the band had settled themselves, the questions started.

  “Aus den fotos im internet. können wir—”

  Chick interrupted the man in the front row who’d rapped out his question. Hunter understood German but it didn’t come as naturally to him as Swedish or English. “English only, please. Or you may speak through the interpreter.” He indicated the prim woman standing by his side. Clever. Slow it all down a bit and put the reporters at a disadvantage.

  The man gave a heavy sigh and started again. “From the photos that have appeared on the internet in the last twenty-four hours, we can assume you have a new girlfriend, Hunter?”

  “Yes.” Hunter folded his arms, drawing attention to his chest. Despite drying off a moment before, it gleamed with sweat again. He never answered questions about his private life and, unlike some members of the band, he didn’t flaunt his affairs in public. So this was a first for them.

  “What’s with the headset? Love the man, hate his music?”

  Sabina put her hand on his arm as he was about to speak. Would he take over or let her speak for herself? This felt like a turning point in their relationship because she absolutely would not play second fiddle to him, although he’d have all her support for his music. Especially after she’d heard the concert tonight.

  He leaned back and glanced at her, smiling. “Sabina can tell you much better than I can.”

  Relief surged through her in a tide that overwhelmed her for a few seconds but she dragged her senses back together because this was important. “These are special post-operative wear. Some of you may know that I was deaf. I had some hearing but nothing to signify. I’ve had the new operation at Uppsala University Hospital to put implants into my ears. The operation was successful but I have to wear these for a while in public, to regulate the noise.”

  Cries of “Take them off!” followed. She held up her hand to shut them up.

  “Only if you promise to be quiet. You can’t make a lot of noise or you’ll damage my hearing. I’ll remove them for a minute. That’s all. Deal?”

  Shit, they agreed. Hardened journalists in search of a story, and she had them eating out of her hand. Glancing at Hunter, she tried for a reassuring smile. Would they yell? They could cause her irreparable damage. Or not. No telling.

  She lifted the headset off and handed it to Hunter. Deciding to go the whole hog, she shook her hair back so they could see her shaved areas and scars. The doctors had been right. Once her hair had regrown the scars would be virtually undetectable to most people.

  Although a few people gasped, they obeyed her request and the only sounds were a few low mutters and the clicking of cameras. Not many mobile phone cameras in use here.

  Tension rose
inside her, tightening her throat. Without her headphones she felt vulnerable, open to attack. Like a warrior outnumbered by the barbarian hordes. But then, press conferences always seemed this way, even the more civilized ones she’d attended with Emmelie.

  Without speaking, Hunter got to his feet and put the headphones back on her.

  It was the cue for the noise to start again. “No external attachment, no batteries?” one asked. Cochlear implants required batteries to work.

  Chick allowed her ten minutes, plenty of time to discuss the operation, the pioneering work the university was doing to help the deaf and to touch on the issues of operating on the deaf too young in life, before they’d had a chance to learn the skills that would last them a lifetime.

  Finally, she signed a message to them, using ASL, and then the easier to understand SEE, the literal translation of speech that didn’t have its own syntax and grammar, as ASL did. With some luck, those messages might find their way into the general media and not just the music press. “I’m thinking of setting up an organization to help bridge the deaf and the hearing, especially with people like me who don’t belong in any world.” Her new idea, very young as yet.

  Hunter tugged her hand and as she turned to him, she saw Chick making the winding-up signal. “She belongs here,” Hunter said. Cupping the back of her head, he drew her close and kissed her. Cameras clicked and flashed and, to her amusement she heard a smattering of applause.

  Then he shocked the life out of her by dropping on one knee, just as he had at the railway station. Except that when he opened his hand, something glittered on his palm.

  Fuck. Silence fell and anticipation filled the air.

  “Sabina, I love you and I will never stop. I haven’t stopped in all the time I’ve known you. I want very much to make you my wife, but if you don’t, then let’s make it a long engagement. Please?”

  She stared at him, eyes wide, shocked to the core. Her mind ground to a halt. Marry?

  This was his way of saying sorry. Not just what he said on the train. Her man was giving her the chance to say no and humiliate him on his home ground. She could tell by the expression in his eyes that this time he was taking nothing for granted. He needed her and he was telling her the truth, just as she’d always wanted.